


in any other world

by someawkwardprose



Series: multiverse theory [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Secret Relationship, Teenage Drama, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 06:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17637179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someawkwardprose/pseuds/someawkwardprose
Summary: In some worlds, they never do manage to get along. In this one, it's still a pretty close call.or; Season 1, revisited.In which Jackson is most certainly an asshole, but that's okay, because Stiles might be one too.





	in any other world

**Author's Note:**

> WHEEW. This was a labour of love that began in October 2017, that I finished in Jan 2018, had a breakdown and abandoned, and revisited in Jan 2019, determined that I would throw into the void at some point, and have finally decided to part with. I'm not entirely happy with it, but I really wanna get the sequel out there, and I can't do that if I don't, ya know, have a work to start with. 
> 
> this is my first teen wolf fic (and the first mature fic), so if you spot any glaring mistakes/bad characterisations that can't be explained by timeskips, tell me!

_Nulla_

The multiverse theory states that there is an infinite number of universes. Science fiction came up with the idea that there are parallel universes - where everything is the same as in their world, with slight (or huge) changes. Stiles loves the idea of every decision having a universe with a separate outcome, which changes that universe. It makes him think about how his life would be, if he hadn’t started _this._

In some worlds, they never meet. In some worlds, they are bitter enemies. In others, they meet too late, or die too early, or something comes between them. Stiles knows they aren’t soulmates, there isn’t anything tying them together other than a wealth of terrifying experiences and some undefined need to protect the other.

In some worlds, Stiles would rather kill Jackson than kiss him. This is not that story.

* * *

_I_

It hasn’t always been like this- Stiles wants that on record. They used to play into the roles of popular jock who beat the shit out of the skinny nerd in the locker room pretty well, he thinks. Well, Jackson never really _hurt_ Stiles, not like that, at least, but they had a system. Jackson ignored Stiles until Stiles said something stupid and Jackson would humiliate Stiles in front of the entire lacrosse team and Stiles would snark back, and then they’d go back to mutual hatred and ignoring the other's existence.

Sometimes, Stiles feels nostalgic for the good old days.

It starts when Lydia and Jackson go one of their many ‘breaks’. Jackson’s assholery is ramped up to the max, and his victim of choice was Stiles, because that’s just Stiles’ luck. Scott always did his best to get in the firing line and protect Stiles’ virtue or something, proving once again that he’s the perfect and most wonderful human on earth, but he’s not always around. Case in point - Scott ending in hospital after trying to go on a run. Scott goes above and beyond the duty of best friend and is generally great, but he’s the dumbest little shit sometimes, and it was lucky Melissa was still home to give him his nebuliser before calling for an ambulance.

So Stiles was alone, and Jackson had lost Danny somewhere during the day. In fact, the school was practically empty, leaving the two of them on their own. Jackson decided to be a dick, and Stiles had more important things to worry about, like dumbass friends determined to commit suicide by asthma attack. He’s pretty pissed off at being Jackson’s favourite punching bag again too. So he’d replied in kind with his usual finesse, going for the jugular. “Just because Mommy and Daddy don’t love you -”

Okay, maybe Stiles is a bit of a dick as well.

Everyone knows Jackson’s got anger issues - Stiles more than anyone. He’s an asshole to the ninth degree, and sure, he’s pretty in control most of the time, but Stiles remembers when his dad had arrested Jackson for assaulting one of the opposing team’s players. It had been down to Mr Whittemore’s fancy footwork that Jackson had been let off with just a warning, but Stiles has very clear memories of how fucked up the other kid was.

So, Stiles being pinned against the wall and Jackson being well and truly pissed left Stiles at a pants-wetting level of fear because no-one was there to stop him. Stiles hasn’t got time to have his ass kicked - hospital visiting hours were short enough, and Stiles is on curfew for the next week. He needs to get out of this - preferably without any injuries - and he knows he can’t risk provoking Jackson anymore.  There was a moment in which Stiles was staring into Jackson’s pretty blue eyes and wondering if he’d have to explain to his dad where his bruises came from, and he licked his lips, thinking. Stiles noticed the way Jackson’s eyes are drawn to the movement before he has the most ridiculous, stupid Hail Mary of an idea. He kisses Jackson.

Jackson, to Stiles’ surprise and somewhat delight, _kisses him back._ It’s hot and wet and not honestly what Stiles expected his first kiss to be like, but it’s- good? Jackson moans and Stiles echoes it, and yeah, it’s definitely good.

In the end, the encounter led to Stiles being late for visiting hours because he had to go home to change his pants after some mutual grinding. He’s pretty proud of himself, even if that had been the most monumentally stupid decision Stiles had made in the past year. Orgasms are better than bruises, after all.

Scott takes one look at his face and knows some shit went down. The groan he lets out after Stiles tells lets him know how much Scott disapproves. It probably should have been taken into more consideration later, Stiles thinks.

* * *

_II_

It becomes a thing.

Jackson and Lydia break up, Jackson gets pissy and takes it out on Stiles, they make out, Jackson and Lydia get back together, and Stiles is back to being worth less than the dirt on Jackson’s shoes.

Stiles is surprisingly okay with this turn of events.

Jackson is a good kisser, and Stiles is perfectly happy suffering from a few sharp insults as long as he’s sucking face with the hottest boy in the school in repayment. Mutual handjobs in the showers after practice, dry humping each other in the empty cupboards, and on one memorable occasion, Jackson blowing Stiles behind the bookshelf in the library. The only one who knows about it is Scott, as Lydia pays no more attention to Stiles than usual, which means Jackson hadn’t told her. That’s great news for Stiles, because everyone knows that you don’t touch Lydia’s stuff, and even when they’re split, Jackson is most definitely Lydia’s.

As far as Stiles knows, Jackson thinks Stiles is too ashamed to tell Scott, which is hilarious to Stiles. Maybe, if it had started a few months later, Stiles would lie to Scott. But here, now, before werewolves and monsters and Argents, Scott is his brother. Scott knows more about Stiles than Stiles does, and vice versa. Stiles didn’t keep _anything_ from Scott. Scott tells Stiles repeatedly that the whole situation is a terrible idea, but he covers for Stiles occasionally, because he’s amazing like that.

* * *

_III_

They freeze when someone comes into the locker room. There’s no gym class on for the next two periods, and Coach is supposed to be out for lunch. Jackson’s eyes are wide, and Stiles is barely breathing. They’re hidden from sight, mostly, but all the intruder needed to do was walk around the back and catch Stiles on his knees in front of Jackson.

Then Coach starts to whistle the theme from _Thunderbirds,_ and Stiles’ thinks he might break a rib trying to stay silent. Jackson looks panicked, but also sort of like he’s desperately trying not to laugh as the keys rattle, and _finally_ the office door opens and Coach walks inside. He closes the door behind him too.

They wait a few moments before they hear the TV inside turn on, fairly loud, before they break out into hushed, slightly hysterical laughter.

Stiles doesn’t get the chance to learn if his oral fixation makes him any good at fellatio, but he can’t find it in him to regret that too badly, not when he hums the tune the next time Jackson brushes past him. Listening to Jackson crack up and try to dance around Danny’s _what the hell is so funny_ makes up for that.

* * *

_IV_

The thing is, Jackson isn’t as vapid as people assume. He’s got nothing on Stiles, but Lydia Martin didn’t just like her boyfriend’s pretty, she wanted them smart. Stiles’ knows better than anyone that Jackson has more than lacrosse plays running through his mind. He just didn’t have enough sense to decide some things were best left _alone._

Just after Scott gets bitten, Jackson starts sniffing around things he shouldn’t be. He goes for the obvious option, which is Scott’s can-never-keep-his-mouth-shut best friend. Stiles can understand why he would think that, but it hurts, that someone could think he’d betray Scott that easily. Jackson and he may not actually do much _talking,_ but he thought the other boy knew him a little better than that.

“Just tell me what he’s taking, Stilinski!” Jackson has him pinned up against the lockers, looming over Stiles threateningly. Stiles can admit that three months ago, he would have liked to piss himself. Now he’s mostly turned on, so he just twists his face into a scowl and shoves back at him. It doesn’t push Jackson quite as far as Stiles would have liked, but it gives him a little room.

“What the hell? Scott’s clean, always has been,” Stiles, while technically not lying, still knows that’s a weak reply. He’s not at his best.

“You’re telling me, skinny little Scott McCall, who can barely walk the length of himself without lunging for his inhaler, is suddenly the world’s greatest athlete without a little chemical help? Pull the other one,” Jackson is back in Stiles’ space, arm resting on the locker above his head, crowding Stiles into the cold metal. “Either tell me what he’s taking, or I’ll tell coach.”

“Can’t handle a little competition, Jacks?”

Jackson snarls, more wolf like than Scott at the full moon, and presses even closer to Stiles. Stiles dick is immediately interested, and he’s a little concerned about the direction of his kinks, but he can’t spare the brainpower to follow that line of the thought. As close as he is to Stiles, Jackson can’t really miss the way Stiles is pressing into his thigh, and his face changes from anger to hunger in moments. “Fuck you, Stilinski.”

Stiles smirks. “You would.”

In some worlds, Jackson huffs and storms off. Even in this one, it’s a bold move. Lydia and Jackson are firmly in the _on_ category of their _on-and-off_ again romance, and Jackson _hates_ if Stiles brings up their thing when he’s off playing the perfect heterosexual. However, all Jackson does is raise a cocky eyebrow, and smirk. Stiles would quite like to punch the look off of the asshole, but he’s also _very interested_ in the way Jackson’s other hand is no longer tightly gripping his bicep and is instead travelling downwards, hovering over the button on Stiles’ jeans.

They haven’t done much, if Stiles is honest. A few BJ’s and handjobs aside, making out and grinding on one another until they come is hardly dipping their toes into the _fucking_ territory. Stiles, if he’s honest with himself, would quite like to know what Jackson’s dick is like inside him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jackson narrows his eyes, and flips Stiles face first into the lockers. “You’d like me to bend you over and take you, right here, where anyone could walk in and catch you with your pants around your ankles, huh?”

Then Jackson’s hand is in his pants and he’s feeding a diatribe of filth into Stiles’ ear, grinding into Stiles ass, and honestly, ten to Stilinski for distraction methods. He comes in his pants, Jackson panting into his shoulder blades before pulling away.

“Better clean up, Stilinski. Wouldn’t want anyone catching you.” Jackson tells him, a smug look plastered on his face as he saunters to the door.

“Acting like a dick won’t make yours any bigger, Whittemore,” he flips off Jackson’s retreating back, and basks in the sound of the other boys laugh.

“Never had any complaints before.”

* * *

_V_

They never really talk about it.

That was fine with Stiles, since Stiles was busy being awesome - aka, helping Scott find his zen, and therefore saving his best friend’s relationship, being pushed around by (and saving) Derek Hale, and trying to keep his grades up from dropping.

He’s seen the claw marks on Jackson’s neck, and Stiles’ is pretty sure even Lydia’s talon’s couldn’t do that kind of damage, so he asks Derek about it. Derek is even grouchier than usual but he reluctantly admits that he did it during the wolfbane incident, but he insists that Jackson won’t inherit any wolfyness. Stiles is glad, because honestly, the last thing he needs is another egotistical asshole wolf in his life (even if he’s pretty sure the sex would be _fantastic._ )

Then Derek dies.

He turns out to be alive in the end, that asshole, but Stiles spends the entire time in the school freaking out because he just saw the alpha fucking _murder Derek_. And now he was after them too. Them being he and Scott, Allison who the alpha had tricked into coming to the school, Lydia and fucking Jackson. Honestly, this night couldn’t get any worse.

Scott nearly kills them too, which makes Stiles reconsider that opinion.

Scott convinces him to lie to his dad, which is becoming a theme in Stiles’ life, and they say now-dead Derek tried to kill them. It’s terrifying, and Stiles may or may not spend the next night curled in his dad’s bed, not that his dad would call him out on it. Dad, if Stiles is honest, seems to be sort of pleased, probably because he sees it as Stiles still trusting him, which in turn makes Stiles feel like shit. But he can’t lie to himself that waking up under his father’s arm makes him feel safe in a way he can’t possibly explain to himself, let alone others.

* * *

_VI_

Jackson isn’t happy with the official explanation that is given out. Stiles isn’t sure he would be either, but considering Stiles can’t just go around explaining _werewolves_ to people, he’s not quite sure he can deal with Jackson’s douchebaggery - and his focus is still on getting the answers out of Stiles. He corners Stiles in the showers after lacrosse practice, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a reasonable response to the fun they’ve been having, or if he’s watched too much porn, but his mind immediately descends into the gutter, rather than working out a better cover story.

Stiles is buck naked and covered in soap. They’ve been around each other in the nude before - they’re on the same lacrosse team together. But, Jackson having his hands down his pants is very different from him seeing Stiles in all his scrawny glory. And actually _looking_ , because Stiles certainly doesn’t miss the way his eyes stray from Stiles’ face.

Stiles takes a moment to admire Jackson too. They’re completely alone in the showers, because Stiles is always the last to get back in after practice - Coach’s idea of involving the constant benchwarmer is tidying up after everyone. Jackson is hot as fuck, especially when water is trailing down from his shoulders to frame the six pack he sports, and Stiles is almost sure he was doing it on purpose. Jokes on Jackson, because Jackson can’t use his own arousal against him for information. Stiles is almost perpetually horny, he’s pretty sure the wolves can smell it on him, and that’s why Derek always scrunches his nose around him. The point is, Stiles can function when aroused. Jackson can’t get anything out of him.

“I know you know what’s going on, Stilinski, just tell me,” Jackson cajoles. Stiles likes Jackson better when he’s being nicer for information, it’s ten times better than him yelling, but he’s not that easy. “You and McCall are right in the middle of it-” Stiles also like Jackson better when he’s too busy groaning to ask questions, so he gets on his knees and wraps his mouth around Jackson’s cock.

Stiles also likes Jackson’s hand in his hair, even if it’s too short to tug on.

He’s still not sure about the taste of cum, but nothing is hotter than Jackson swallowing when he returns the favour.

* * *

_VII_

Years from now, Stiles will be able to look back and say this is when things changed, for him at least. It’s another lacrosse practice. Jackson is sat on the bench after Greenburg trips him up, ice wrapped around his ankle. Coach is furious, yelling something about Achilles and the Trojan war, before making Greenburg do suicide runs for the rest of the night, while the rest of the team continues regular practice. Stiles, having done his daily dose of torture, is bench warming, and since most benchwarmers don’t turn up to practice, he was alone. But now he’s sitting next to Jackson.

It’s the closest they’ve been in school, outwith their secret rendezvous, and Stiles is fairly sure Jackson is just going to act like the dick he is when they’re not alone together. Which is why he’s surprised when Jackson initiates a conversation.

“I don’t know why Coach lets Greenburg on anymore. He used to be half decent, but now? Even you’d be better, Stilinski.”

“Jeez, what a compliment.”

“It should be.” Jackson looks over at him, smiling, but there’s something about it that’s almost _shy._ Like he’s nervous about a conversation with Stiles. “At least you’ve got an excuse - you’re a clumsy little shit. Greenburg is just an idiot.”

“Thanks.” There’s a lump in his throat, and he swallows. “I thought you were gonna rip his leg off, when he tripped you.”

Jackson groans. “Not you too, Danny’s already told me to check myself.”

“Hey, I’m not judging, I know I would. He could have seriously hurt you, and you hadn’t even had a chance to get on the field.”

There’s a contemplative look on Jackson’s face, like he’s thinking about something. “I’ve not got that bad of a temper, you know. I know everyone thinks I do, but I can normally reign it in.”

He glances at Stiles from underneath his lashes, and there’s something in his expression, something soft, and he’s never seen it before. Stiles thinks about the boy in the wheelchair from the other team, and tries to reconcile _angry, violent Jackson_ with the one sitting in front of him. He can’t.

Stiles has always been nosy, always wanted to connect all the dots. He wants all the information, and he’s never really had any impulse control. “What happened last year then?”

Tact definitely wasn’t Stiles’ middle name.

Jackson hums, and looks out at the field. No, not the field, at Danny in goals. Stiles recognises the look on his face. It’s a feeling he often gets around Scott, especially when he was ill enough to be hospitalised, because someone goaded him into doing something he couldn’t do. “Everyone forgot about it, they were all more focused on the fact I’d been arrested. More interested in that stupid kid than his original victim.

“Danny came to my house, after the game. Black eye, bruised ribs, his wrist was sprained. Danny’s the strongest guy I know, and he looked about ten seconds away from tears. You know Danny, man. He’s the nicest guy there is - a far better person that I’ll ever be. Who the hell wants to hurt him?”

Stiles has a horrible feeling about where this is going.

“This kid and his cronies had decided that _that fucking fag needs taught a lesson._ They thought Danny had been checking them out.”

Stiles gets it. He’d do the same - probably a hell of a lot worse, even - if someone attacked Scott. Scott, like Danny, was the nicest person you could meet, unlike Stiles, who was a complete asshole. He and Jackson were alike in that way.

Jackson is looking at him with eyes that are begging for him to understand, and Stiles smiles. Listens to Coach blow the whistle.

“I’ll meet you in the showers, Jacks,” he says, and shows his appreciation of Jackson’s protectiveness in the only way he really can.

* * *

_VIII_

Something changes with them after that.

Jackson stays for a while after, sometimes. Sometimes it’s gentle. Sometimes they lock eyes and don’t stop watching the other until after they come. Sometimes they act more like a couple than Stiles would like to admit.

“Shhh.” Jackson murmurs between Stiles’ giggles, but there’s an evil looking smirk on his face as he drags his hands up Stiles’ torso. Stiles bites his lip to try and silence himself, but Jackson kisses him and he loses his concentration.

“Shit, Jacks, stop it-” the grin gets bigger, and then a tongue is following the path his hands traced, and Stiles is completely _fucked -_

* * *

_IX_

“You reek.” Derek tells him as Stiles walks into his bedroom.

“Thanks dude,” he drops down onto the spinning office chair, since Derek had decided to appropriate his bed. Derek looks - well, Stiles would be blind to say he doesn’t think he’s hot as fuck, but honestly, the serial killer vibe turns him off.

There’s a hint of vulnerability in Derek’s eyes, that makes Stiles want to push, to pry, to find out what kind of person hiding behind the asshole mask, but the caustic defensive layer is too much for him to handle. In another life, Stiles’ might have been lonely enough - might have been desperate enough - but in this one, he’s sixteen, and he’s had enough of other people’s issues to last a lifetime. He hopes one day Derek gets help with whatever shit keeps him up at night, and hopes that they can be friends, but he isn’t willing to risk baring his own insecurities to the acerbic werewolf. Besides, Lydia and Jackson still haven’t gotten back together, so Stiles had his own piece of hot shit to keep him occupied.

“No, you smell like sex,” the faintly accusing tone leaves Stiles offended. Hey, he’s not _Derek_ levels of attractive, but he’s not bad. “...like the Whittemore kid.”

Jackson had caught him after class, proceeded to absolutely wreck Stiles with just his mouth, and left with a smug smile while Stiles was still recovering. It was _fantastic._ “Guess I better take a shower then.”

“Please.”

Dick.

* * *

_X_

Stiles leans his head back against the cold stone, and lets the rain mingle with his tears. He misses her. Misses the way nothing was a big deal - misses the way she’d joke about things that were serious so they seemed less scary. Misses the way she’d smile at their awful neighbour and shouted polish curses cheerfully at her in a way that made her think she was being friendly. Misses the way she’d make his dad laugh and the hot chocolate she’d make every time Stiles was sad.

Stiles has eighteen missed calls and over a hundred unread texts, but he ignores them as he leans against his mother’s gravestone in the pouring rain. His Dad would be half-way into the bottle by now, if not passed out, and Scott - Scott knows what the date means to Stiles, he and Melissa were worried, but he’d give it an hour before they came out looking for him. Which is good, because Stiles sits with Claudia and tells her everything that she’s missing.

“I mean, I guess my first time was gonna be more romantic, but…” Stiles leaves a pause, imagining his mom’s raised eyebrow and thinks about the advice she would give him. Thinks about how she’d remind him that he doesn’t need to keep screwing Jackson, and that he could just wait until he meets a nice boy. Then she’d remind him to use protection. “Yeah, I know but, it’s not a big deal? Jackson is - well, it’s fun. Besides, I’d rather know what I’m doing before I meet The One, you know.”

He imagines her nodding. She might have been an elementary school teacher, but his mom never had been one for tradition, with her double helix and tragus piercings, the tattoos on her wrists - he and his dad’s names. He can barely remember her telling him about the pole dancing classes she took, but he knows she was good at it. Stiles is pretty sure Claudia would understand him now, even if no one else does.

He chokes on a sob, digging his nails into his palm as he declines another call without checking who it was. His heart is a broken, ragged thing, still open and raw, no matter how long she’d been gone. When she had died - long before her illness had taken her, but when she had forgotten who Stiles was, who she was - it was like all the light had been sucked out of his life. Like the colours of the world around him had been dulled, and the sun itself had been dimmed. He’s getting better now, both him and his dad, they were slowly healing together, but they would never be the same. Claudia Stilinski had taken a lot with her as she had deteriorated.

“Werewolves, Mom. My best friend is a werewolf, and Dad doesn’t trust me, because I keep having to lie to him. I’ve spoken more to the boy I’m screwing behind his girlfriend’s back that my own father this week,” pausing, he takes a deep breath. “I just…I wish I could talk to someone.”

The rain beats on his cheeks for a long time, the graveyard otherwise silent. The dark clouds conceal the sunset, but he sits as the light around him fades, breathing.

“Tęsknie za tobą, mama,” Stiles whispered.

The rain makes the daffodils - his mom’s favourite - look dull, but still he fixes them until they look vaguely upright. Then he heaves himself to his feet and starts making the long walk home, because he didn’t want his dad hearing the Jeep.

He’s distracted, which is his excuse for not hearing the car coming behind him, until the distinctive horn of Jackson’s porsche startles him out of his reverie. He looks over his shoulder, and Jackson’s leaning out of the window, laughing. “You ever check your phone, Stilinski?” Stiles sighed. Normally, he’d be down to banter with Jackson, but right now, he’s soaked to the bone and exhausted by grief. He just shakes his head and keeps walking.

“C’mon, Stiles, what the hell,” the car door slams, and Jackson’s hand is on his shoulder, turning him around. “You ignoring me now-”

He cuts off when he gets a glimpse of Stiles’ face, his brows furrowing in what looks like concern. “What happened?”

Stiles brushes him off. “Nothing, I’m just not in the mood, Jackson.”

Jackson frown deepens. In the low light, Stiles is pretty he looks like Hell, which is, coincidentally, exactly how he feels. Jackson’s hand brushes his own, and the other boy grabs it, squeezing gently.

“Shit, you’re freezing. Come on,” he tugs at their linked hands. Stiles opens his mouth to tell Jackson _no, I can’t, not right now,_ but Jackson cuts him off. “Look, I’ll give you a lift home, okay?”

Stiles is too drained to protest, instead nodding tiredly. Jackson’s grip drags him into the car, and he shivers slightly in the pause it takes for Jackson to grab the towel from his lacrosse bag and spread it over his leather seat, the cold finally hitting him. When Jackson gets in the driver’s side, he cranks the heat up, casting worried glances at Stiles the entire time.

“Where to?” Jackson asks, and Stiles thinks about it.

“Do you know where Scott lives?” Jackson nods, and turns the car in the direction of the McCall house.

There’s silence in the car for a while, and Stiles drifts, feeling bone-weary. This is the second worst day of the year for him, and it’s never gotten easier. He wonders, idly, if it ever would.

It’s Jackson who breaks the silence. “Why were you out there?”

It’s an intimate dance, the way it works between he and Jackson. It’s hot, and they do a _lot_ of shit, but there are no feelings involved and Stiles is okay with that. He’s okay with Jackson being a dick to him 24/7, he’s okay with Jackson asking questions that they both know Stiles won’t answer. Stiles is pretty sure Jackson only keeps trying to see what distraction Stiles comes up with next. It seems like Lydia and Jackson are almost on a permanent break now, which is also okay with Stiles. It just means Stiles’ and Jackson’s liaisons are a hell of a lot more common. But there’s still nothing more between them.

They don’t talk about feelings.

“It’s my mom’s birthday.”

Jackson stills, then nod. He doesn’t talk again, but his hand migrates from the steering wheel to take Stiles. It’s a comforting gesture, and Stiles appreciates the sentiment. A thousand times better than _I’m so sorry,_ or a pitying look. He relaxes back against the seat, waiting for the chills to stop, and basks in the presence of Jackson.

And maybe Jackson looks surprised when Scott helps Stiles out of the car, without questioning Jackson, but that's just because Scott's awesome like that, and he'll interrogate Stiles when he'd feeling better. That night, curled up in bed beside Scott, he finally looks at his messages. Most are from Melissa and Scott, a couple from his dad, and two from Jackson. The first says a simple _booty call? ;),_ which makes Stiles snort. The second: _u okay?_

_yeah._ A pause. _thank you._

_anytime_

* * *

_XI_

He never saw it coming.

They’d been, what, bonding? Jackson saw Stiles at his weakest point, and told Stiles something he was pretty sure no one but Danny knew. They weren’t together, hell, they weren’t even friends, but they were _something._

“Listen, Stilinski, it was fun, but this? It’s over.”

“What, Jacks-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Stiles feels a swooping in his gut, and he shoves it away. Maybe to analyse later, maybe to just shove in a box and forget about it. “Wanna tell me why?” he asks, but it’s weak.

“Jesus, what are you, a girl?” Jackson snorts. “I don’t want to fuck you anymore.”

“Fine.” Stiles hopes Jackson doesn’t hear the crack in his voice, before he turns and leaves. He makes it to the Jeep before he shudders in a breath. Scott is coming out the school, smiling happily at something Allison said, before he sees Stiles.

He stops, says something to Allison, kisses her gently on the cheek, and sprints to the Jeep.

“What-” he scents the air. “Jackson.” He growls.

“Guess I’m back to my right hand again, huh?” Stiles tries to joke. It falls pretty flat.

Scott reaches over to hug him, and Stiles tries very hard not to cry.

* * *

_XII_

_It was just sex. Nothing more._

Stiles glared his reflection into submission. _Just sex_ meant there was no reason for his red rimmed eyes, his blotchy skin. _Just sex_ meant that it shouldn’t feel like Stiles’ heart was being clenched in a vice. _Just sex_ meant the hickey on his throat was just another annoyance, meant that Stiles should be glad it was over since the other couldn’t stick to the _no marks_ rule.

He shouldn’t be upset anyway. Give it time, and the golden couple would have another argument, go on another break, and _he_ would come crawling back, tail between his legs, looking for Stiles to get his rocks off.

_Just sex, Stilinski._

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure when he’d had the time to fall in love with Jackson Whittemore, but he was, and he fucking hated every minute of it.

* * *

_XIII_

Stiles bag thumped down next to Scott’s and he groaned into his best friend’s shoulder. Scott hummed sympathetically, hand coming up to brush Stiles’ buzz. He took a moment to bask in his brother’s presence, and let out a frustrated snarl.

Lydia Martin’s laugh carried over the cafeteria, and Stiles fought the urge to look. It wouldn’t do him any good, because he knew what he’d see. Jackson, sitting beside her, with that damn smirk on his face. Stiles didn’t quite hate himself enough to let the image torture him, and he let Scott soothe him instead. Scott, for his part, didn’t ask what happened - even though it was pretty fucking obvious - or tell Stiles that he told him this was coming, which was why he was such a spectacular best friend. He just angled his body so Stiles didn’t have to see the popular table, and passed him the chocolate pudding.

Just like the good old days, when Stiles and Jackson mutually ignored each other’s existence until one of them did something stupid enough to warrant a sarcastic comment.

God, Stiles wishes he could just ignore Jackson again.

“Mom’s working late tonight, wanna come over?” Scott asked,

Really, Scott deserved a goddamn medal.

* * *

_XIV_

In school, Jackson completely blanks him except the occasional glare, but that’s perfectly fine by Stiles. He’s perfectly happy not facing daily verbal abuse, thank you very much. Even if he misses Jackson like hell, and had jerked off more times this week than he had in the past month, and if he’d cried a few times, no one else had to know. He’s okay though. Things are going back to normal. If that means he has to put up with Jackson staring at him sometimes, Stiles is happy.

“You okay, dude?” Scott asks.

“Peachy,” if Stiles caps his highlighter with perhaps a little more force than normally, that’s his problem.

Scott hums, unconvinced, but returns to his homework. Stiles looks up for a split second, making eye contact with Jackson from across the library, before looking back at his textbook and tries to pretend it’s not the fifth time he’s caught Jackson staring at him in the hour they’d been there.

* * *

_XV_

The weeks pass, and things get scarier. Derek’s uncle is the goddamn alpha, Allison’s aunt is a crazy psychopath, and apparently Jackson _knows,_ which is something Stiles doesn’t want to think about.

“You’re way too pretty to be out here by yourself,” Stiles says, and pretends he’s not hurt by the ugly look Jackson gives him. He knows the other boy is frightened - knows from Scott how intimidating Mr Argent is - but he doesn’t quite deserve the disgust he’s left with, he thinks. Maybe it’s not disgust. Jackson looks awfully vulnerable.

After, when Argent ‘fixes’ Jackson’s car and Jackson speeds off, Scott turns to him.

“Look, even I can see that he’s hot but, really... _him?_ ”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. He grows on you.”

“What, like mold?”

Stiles punches him on the arm.

* * *

_XVI_

Somehow, they threaten Jackson into taking Allison to the dance. This leads to Stiles taking Lydia, which…

Like Derek, Stiles thinks he’d love Lydia, had the circumstances been different. He says he is, but having felt what he has over the past few weeks, he knows what he feels for Lydia is nothing close to love.

She was perfect, whip-smart, terrifying, cruel and kind in turns - a hurricane in a human body. It was easier to say he was in love with her than say he’d simply admired her. Back in middle school, admiring a girl was a terrible thing. But Stiles has grown out of that stage a long time ago, long before Jackson, even. He knew now that he had every right to respect Lydia Martin for her brilliance. Recently, he’d been jealous, not that he’d ever admit it to himself, that Lydia got to have Jackson in real life, and not screwing in empty closets.

That didn’t mean going to the dance with her was anything but a dream come true.

It wasn’t just the way Jackson was staring hotly at him from across the dancefloor, although that played into it. He was glad, in a way, for Jackson’s jealousy - even if he couldn’t tell who it was aimed at more, Stiles or Lydia. He could admit to himself that Jackson had really hurt him. He never expected to be important to Jackson, but he had expected a bit more closure than _I’m done fucking you._

Lydia, once she’d gotten off her high horse, was actually pretty fun to be with. She mocked the lacrosse boys mercilessly, teased Danny about how cute he was, and laughed with Stiles about how useless Scott was when it came to Allison. They talk about science, and she promises to help him catch up in chemistry, where Harris’ constant negging has caused him to lose interest.

“What happened between you and Jackson?” Stiles eyes bug out his head, and Lydia rolls her eyes. “Really, Stiles, Jackson isn’t subtle. He’s been staring at you for the past hour.”

“I- I don’t-”

“Relax. Jackson and I haven’t been serious for a while,” she flips strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, and looks over at him contemplatively. “I never really guessed you for his type. You’re cute enough, I suppose.”

“Thanks.” Stiles snorts.

“It’s a compliment. Jackson does have good taste, I can tell you that.”

He realises he’s getting Lydia Martin’s blessing. It makes something in his stomach twist.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Stiles doesn’t mean to sound so bitter, but he does. “Whatever it was, it’s over.”

Lydia gives him a speculative look, and her eyes are knowing. “Not for you.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “No, not for me.”

“I can guarantee it hasn’t for Jackson either. No, listen,” she raises her hand as Stiles shakes his head. “Jackson pushes people away when he cares about them. I could give you a whole psychoanalysis on what goes on in that boy’s head and I wouldn’t even scratch the surface. But he likes you, and you like him back. Give it time, and he’ll learn to stop self-destructing.

“He’s my best friend, you know,” Lydia casts her eyes across the dancefloor to Jackson, who was sitting beside Danny and his date, sipping the punch and pretending he wasn’t surreptitiously glancing at them every few minutes. “We dated because it was expected, but we’re not good together.” She sighs.“I just want him to be happy, Stiles. And I think you might be able to do that.”

“Maybe.”

“That being said,” and the look in her eyes is not fucking around. “You hurt him? Danny and I can, and will, ruin your life.”

Stiles believes her.

“I need to get some air, can you watch my bag?” she asks, and he nods, glad for the reprieve. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He sits, fiddling with his phone, wondering where Scott had gotten to, when he hears a voice behind him.

“Ditched already, Stilinski?”

Stiles nails dig into his palms. He breathes out, and tries to ignore Jackson. It’s difficult, considering the boy sits down in Lydia’s recently vacated seat. He grabs Lydia’s bag and heads to the toilets, before Jackson grabs his arm. They’re pretty much alone in the hallway, and the illusion of privacy obviously makes Jackson’s walls come down.

“Stiles, please, just hear me out-”

“Look, _Whittemore,_ I just want to enjoy myself tonight,” he pretends he doesn’t see Jackson’s flinch at his surname. “I have to go find my _date-_ ”

Stiles voice cuts out. He has a terrible feeling.

“Stiles, what-”

“Lydia,” he breathes out. “Something’s wrong with Lydia.”

Jackson and he share a look, before they both bolt to the lacrosse field.

* * *

_XVI_

Stiles sees Lydia hit the ground, and slams his hand out to stop Jackson from running over to her. There’s a figure crouched over her prone form, and Stiles is fairly sure that it's the Alpha. Derek’s uncle, Peter Hale.

“What the fuck, she’s hurt-” Jackson snarls, and Stiles has to physically grab him.

“And we won’t be much help to her if he kills us both,” Stiles tells him, more calmly than he feels. “No. You stay here, call an ambulance. I’ll go.”

Jackson stills. “And only you die? That’s not better, Stiles!”

“He’s not going to kill me.” Stiles has a sinking suspicion that it’s _him_ Peter is here for. For better or for worse, tonight is when it all ends, and Peter needs Scott for that. Who better to trap Scott than Stiles himself?

“You just said he was going to kill us!”

Stiles shakes his head, and forces himself to look at Jackson. The other boy's eyes are wide with panic, and Stiles just _knows_ that it is, at least in part, worry about him. “I need you to stay here and call an ambulance, okay? The police are going to come, too. Don’t tell my dad anything.”

Jackson looks like he’s about to say something, but Stiles cuts him off.  “Please, Jacks.”

Jackson swallows, then gives a swift, sharp nod. “Be careful.” The words are said in a whisper, but Stiles hears them anyway.

He’s unsettled by Peter and his power games, but he does his best to smile reassuringly at Jackson as he’s dragged into his Jeep.

* * *

_XVIII_

Peter’s mouth is too close to his wrist when Stiles pulls his arm away. He can’t even say why he does it, only that he knew he must. It happens in most worlds, but not all. There are no universal constants. In some worlds, Stiles is too late. In some worlds he doesn’t pull away at all. In some worlds, Peter doesn’t care about his choice. In this one, he pulls his arms away and rejects his chance to become like Scott, and Peter smiles like he’s won something.

“Scott’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Peter drawled, crushing Stiles’ car keys with a smirk on his face. “But he’s a good judge of character.”

He leaves Stiles to think on that statement, and it takes Stiles ten minutes to try and bring his heart rate down, before he starts the long walk back.

* * *

_XIX_

There’s no time to talk about it.

They’re in the hospital, and he’s lying to his dad, and Lydia isn’t healing. Jackson tries to ask what happened, but he comes too close, touches Stiles before Stiles realises that it’s him. Stiles can’t hide his reaction, which is to flinch away.

“Stiles-”

They’re interrupted by Chris Argent. He tries to intimidate Stiles, and Stiles is honestly sick of this bullshit, so he throws a few uncomfortable truths in the older man’s face. They really don’t have time for this shit.

“We need to go to the Hale house.” Stiles looks at Jackson, wondering if the other was going to back out now.

“Did that occasionally eidetic memory of yours pick up on how Lyds made the molotov’s in the school?” Jackson asks, and Stiles almost smiles.

* * *

_XIX_

Stiles does not like Peter Hale.

That doesn’t mean that he feels better about killing him.

Setting a burn victim on fire? Yeah, definitely not an act of mercy. It needed to be done, however, so Stiles will shelve that guilt and ignore it until it bubbles over. It’s unhealthy, but it’s also a problem for another day.

Derek’s the alpha now, had made that very clear when he slashed his uncle’s throat out, flashed them all his red eyes, and said just that. Kate Argent is dead. Allison knows about Scott.

Jackson and Stiles share a long look, and then Jackson is offering to drive him home, but Stiles refuses. “Go check on Lydia, dude.”

“You sure?”

Stiles flicks his eyes back to Scott, who’s gazing longingly at Allison. He shakes his head, then nods. “Go on. I have to deal with this.”

It takes a moment for the other boy to get moving, and he doesn’t stop staring at Stiles until he starts the engine up, and looks over his shoulder once more before he drives away.

* * *

_XX_

Scott drags himself away from thoughts of Allison long enough to throw an arm over his shoulder as they walk away from the ruins of the Hale house together.

“So, Jackson, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“No seriously, I thought you guys were done?”

“We were. We are. He just came because of Lydia.” Even as he says it, Stiles knows he’s lying. Lydia had told him herself, it wasn’t like that. He could see the way Jackson had looked at him, the way he’d positioned himself ever so slightly in front of Stiles.

Stiles was so fucked.

“I’m still saying it’s a terrible idea.”

“You’re probably right.” Stiles turns his face into Scott’s neck and hums into his best friend’s throat. Scott tightens his arm around him. “As ever, I’m going to ignore your advice and do it anyway.”

“Knew you would.” Scott tells him, ducking his head and brushing their cheeks. Stiles had done plenty of research into wolfy behaviour, he knew Scott was scenting him. It warmed something in Stiles, knowing his best friend was letting the world know who he was to Stiles. “I’ve got your back anyway.”

“I might need it. He’s gonna ask for the bite.”

“Who?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Scott might be the best friend ever, but he’s still patently a dumbass. “Jackson. Keep up.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Because he wants to be better than you.”

“Oh.” Scott thinks about this for a minute. “Seriously, you like this douchebag?”

 

* * *

_Infinitas_

Stiles is halfway to chemistry when he’s yanked into the empty janitorial closet. The doors barely closed before Jackson’s tongue is halfway down Stiles’ throat, but it doesn’t take Stiles long to get with the program, dropping his bag and wrapping his arms around Jackson’s neck, fingers fisting in his hair. Jackson yanks him up, forcing Stiles to wrap his legs around the other boys waist lest he fall, and he’s pinned against the bare shelves and the hot line of Jackson’s body.

“T-Thought we weren’t doing this anymore-” Stiles gasps out, as Jackson starts rutting against him. “You said-”

“Shut up, Stilinski.” Jackson growls from where he’s mouthing bruises into Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles does, as his head falls back with a thud and he lets himself enjoy the sensations, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut.

In some worlds, Stiles Stilinski hates Jackson Whittemore. This is not that world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUED  
> these boys are idiots who deserve each other and I hate them.


End file.
